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Chapter 119: The Ivory Tower Convenes
Chapter 119: The Ivory Tower Convenes
A Gathering in the Shadows
The chamber was vast, a sanctuary of wealth and power hidden within the depths of the capital. Massive stone pillars lined the walls, their surfaces carved with intricate symbols of authority. Golden chandeliers flickered dimly above, casting a subdued glow over the long, polished table in the center of the room.
Seated around it were figures of immense influence—lords, merchants, military strategists, and scholars. Men and women draped in finery, faces obscured by masks of ivory and gold.
At the head of the table sat Lord Belvane, his mask adorned with a single onyx gemstone at the forehead—a symbol of his dominion over this clandestine order.
The air was thick with unspoken tension.
They had all received the same message.
The Ivory Hand had been annihilated.
And now, the predators felt the cold bite of vulnerability.
The Voice of Power
Lord Belvane’s voice was the first to break the silence.
“We have a problem.”
His tone was measured, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.
The assembled lords and noble conspirators exchanged brief glances. None dared speak first.
Until—
A woman at the far end leaned forward. Lady Isolde Carthis.
Her voice was smooth, deliberate.
“The problem,” she corrected, “is that we underestimated our enemies.”
Her mask was simpler than Belvane’s—a smooth ivory half-mask covering only the upper portion of her face, allowing her piercing gray eyes to remain visible.
She looked from one noble to the next.
“The Ivory Hand was supposed to be untouchable.”
Her words cut through the air like a finely honed dagger.
Another man, Duke Vaelin Renshaw, scoffed. His own mask—a sculpted lion—gleamed in the candlelight.
“Untouchable? Then explain why they’re dead.”
Fractures in the Tower
A murmur of unease rippled through the chamber.
Some clenched their fists. Others drummed their fingers against the table, their minds racing.
Lord Belvane exhaled slowly.
“The assassin.”
All eyes turned to him.
“Seraphis.”
Silence.
The name hung in the air, like a whispered curse.
A younger noble at the table—Baron Elwick—swallowed hard. “You’re telling me one person dismantled an entire organization?”
Belvane’s eyes flickered toward him.
“No.”
Another pause.
“She wasn’t alone.”
A heavy stillness settled over the room.
Isolde’s voice was low, dangerous. “Then tell us who she had.”
Belvane’s fingers curled around the armrest of his chair.
“Elowen and Sylvaine. The Ravens.”
The effect was immediate.
Several nobles stiffened.
A man with a hawk-masked visage, Lord Edric Hale, spoke next. “The Phantom Ravens? The assassins who killed Prince Aldric of Verdan?”**
Belvane nodded.
Duke Vaelin let out a harsh chuckle.
“So we’re dealing with ghosts and myths now?”
The Shadow War Begins
Isolde leaned back in her chair, fingers tapping against the wood.
“This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t a rebellion. This was a declaration of war.”
Theia’s name had not been mentioned yet—but her presence lurked in the unspoken spaces between their words.
Isolde narrowed her eyes. “They won’t stop at the Hand.”
Lord Belvane inclined his head slightly.
“No.”
His gaze darkened.
“They’re coming for us.”
The room grew colder.
Baron Elwick swallowed. “What do we do?”
A New Counterattack
Belvane rose from his chair, his towering form casting a long shadow over the table.
“We strike first.”
His voice held no hesitation, no fear—only resolution.
“We are not mere pawns to be picked off in the night. We built this kingdom from the shadows. We will not be brought to ruin by assassins.”
The chamber stirred. The tension shifted.
From fear—to something else.
Determination.
Vaelin’s lips curled. “Then we send our own message.”
Isolde’s smile was slow, dangerous.
“We take the fight to them.”
A Price on Their Heads
The doors to the chamber swung open.
A figure stepped inside—a messenger, draped in black, carrying a sealed scroll.
He moved swiftly to Belvane’s side, bowing deeply before handing him the parchment.
Belvane broke the seal.
His eyes scanned the contents.
Then, he smirked.
“Perfect timing.”
He turned the parchment so the room could see.
A bounty notice.
Three names.
-
Seraphis
-
Elowen
-
Sylvaine
Vaelin’s eyes glimmered with interest. “How much?”
Belvane’s voice was almost amused.
“Enough to make every assassin in this kingdom turn on them.”
Unleashing the Hounds
A ripple of satisfaction passed through the room.
This was no longer about defense.
It was about control.
Isolde leaned forward. “Then let’s make sure they never see the sun again.”
She gestured toward one of the masked figures at the far end of the table—a silent specter who had not yet spoken.
A man known only as The Vulture.
His voice was soft, but dripped with menace.
“Consider it done.”
The Hunt Begins
The meeting concluded.
One by one, the members of the Ivory Tower dispersed into the night.
Their steps were measured, calculated.
They were no longer merely reacting.
They were moving their pieces.
The war had shifted.
And now—
It was Seraphis and her allies who were being hunted.